


I Know Places

by Scavengersdaughter2



Series: Birthday Songfic Playlist [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Double Entendre, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Songfic, What Have I Done, dark and sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavengersdaughter2/pseuds/Scavengersdaughter2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hatred. Prejudice. It's their 'normal'. But maybe Stiles and Derek can find a place to be themselves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know Places

The world didn't end when werewolves were outed. 

Humans handled it like they handled everything that was different. 

With discrimination. Prejudice. Bigotry. 

Werewolves had to register with the government. They were forced to show identification cards to any human who asked. 

Separate schools. Separate hospitals. 

They could be denied jobs and housing. Refused service anywhere. 

Some of those who were found out, in the beginning especially, had to leave the homes and communities they'd lived in all of their lives. Generations of blood lines forced to move. 

Werewolves were the ones to suffer in every aspect of life. 

Any biting attempts/assault/attacks by werewolves to humans was costly. Their were detention centers for those who attacked a human. Some were put to death. 

Human and werewolf relationships were considered especially heinous. 

　 

Derek put his hand on Stiles' waist. He moved closer, brushing his stubble against the other's neck. 

He giggled. The arm extending to a book dropped to swat at Derek. 

The man only smiled, flipping Stiles around. He nipped at his jaw. 

"How indecent," Stiles whispered, voice high and mocking. 

Derek planted kisses to his jaw. Their lips met. Stiles was laughing breathlessly against him. 

"We're making a scene," he whispered, though his hands went to Derek's shoulders. 

"I don't care," he said against the pale skin of his neck. He nipped there too. 

"We're in plain sight," Stiles tried, gesturing one of his hands around them. A window to the left and the rest of the book store to the right. 

Derek huffed. "Fine." He removed his hand from Stiles' slim hip. 

They went back to browsing shelves. 

 

There was a group of men. Hushed disapproval, hostile scowls. 

Stiles could hear them whisper as they passed by, though exact words were lost on him. 

Not on Derek. 

He glared at them, a low growl in his throat. Stiles sensed the possible conflict. He rushed Derek forward, dragging him by the hand. Derek went but never took his eyes off them until they walked out of sight. 

It was a bad sign. 

 

"Let them say what they want," Stiles said. 

"But-" 

"I won't hear it. I don't care," he interrupted in finality. 

 

"New York will be better," Derek said after a while. Trying to keep positive, as Stiles put it. 

"It _will_ be different there. When I'm done with school, we can go." He squeezed Derek's hand. 

"I know places, owned by wolves. People are more open." 

His smile was bright. "We won't be found there." 

Derek squeezed the hand in his. 

 

Stiles was in a constant state of awareness. Always scanning for the hunters around him. They were the ones who were most put out when werewolves were outed. They couldn’t just kill freely anymore. 

He felt like a fox, waiting to be trapped in a cage. Put in a box and never let out. 

He could always run. Move away to New York. But even then, how long until his legs grew too tired to move? 

Stiles was waiting for the sound of their guns as they tracked down their prey. 

　 

"So when are you marrying this boy?" 

"Dad!" 

He didn't even look apologetic as he said: "Sorry, sorry. I'll be quieter." 

Stiles leaned back in his chair. "I don't think Derek is considered a 'boy'." 

The sheriff gave him A Look. "Stiles, to me, he's a boy." 

"Dad _ddd_." 

He straightened the papers on his desk. "A little boy." 

"Please stop." 

The door to his office was open. 

 

The couple went out to lunch days later. Their booth was next to the floor to ceiling windows. Stiles was talking but Derek was looking at a truck. It'd passed three times in a row. 

Derek made eye contact with the driver. There were others in the cab too, all looking at Derek. 

At Stiles. 

It reminded him of vultures circling their prey. 

He was bullet proof; he'd like to see them try something. 

His ankle rested between Stiles' legs. Moving closer to protect his mate. 

　 

Stiles pulled up to the Reserve. 

He needed earth-y stuff. Bark, stones, twigs. That kind of thing. 

It wasn't his fault their project in Sculpture was: Raw. Nature.  

Whatever. 

　 

Ten minutes later he had a moderately good collection of bark going. Then he heard the roar of several car engines. 

He didn't think much of it; other people came here too. 

It was another twenty minutes before he met up with the car people. 

There was a group of them; Stiles recognized their type. 

Hunters. 

"What can I help you with? At six in the afternoon?...In the forest…?" He asked when they approached. The air was tense. 

"You’re with that wolf?" One asked. He was middle aged, with a grey beard. 

Stiles swallowed. "I don't know who you're talking about?" 

They were circling. Eyes scanning Stiles. Sizing him up. 

"What’s his name?" The first guy asked. 

"Derek Hale," another one answered. 

Stiles tried backing up. Right into the chest of another. 

"Disgusting." He spit on the ground. 

"Freak," someone called. 

"It's unnatural, what you're doing. It's not right. Not how things should be," that first one said. 

"And you're all idiots blinded by hatred." Stiles' mind was screaming for him to _just shut up._  

The guy looked almost impressed by his bravery. Or stupidity. "So you're taking the side of those _monsters_?"  

Stiles looked at their faces. The lines of disgust plainly visible. "If siding with humans means siding with bigots like _you_ , then I guess I am." 

"You live like one-" The man looked to his posse, then back at Stiles. "-you die like one." 

Stiles turned and did the only thing he was capable of; he ran. 

They might've been bigger, in size and number, but he was faster. 

 

His breaths came out in jagged heaves as his feet hit the hard ground. 

He could hear their own ragged exhales as they pursued them. 

He didn’t dare look behind him. 

There was a fence with a hole in the chain links. Stiles ran to it, squeezing through. The feeling of his flannel ripping barely registered. 

They were getting closer. Their shouts loud. Poisonous. 

He got back to his feet. The burnt remains of the Hale family mansion wasn't that far away. He could hide there. 

Their flashlights moved erratically behind him as they chased. 

If he could just get to the mansion, they couldn't find him. 

　 

Derek called his cell. It rang. And rang. " _The caller you are trying to reach-_ " 

He hung up and called three more times. With each failed connection, the pit of fear in his stomach grew larger. 

He called the sheriff. 

"Oh, he said he'd be going to the Reserve for some art project. Probably left his phone in the Jeep." 

The sinking feeling didn't go away. 

He drove to the Reserve, just to be safe. 

His window was rolled down, letting in the scents around him. 

He could smell Stiles. 

He drove in further. 

There were others. 

Two pickups surrounded the lone Jeep. 

He hopped out and scented the air. 

Stiles' anxiety. The body odor of six different men. 

Green turned to icy blue. 

He took off. 

 _Stiles danger find kill_ _kill_ _kill_ _-_  

　 

There was a group of men surrounding a body on the ground. 

Blood. 

The smell was overpowering. 

One raised a leg to kick again. 

They were laughing. 

It was Stiles' blood. 

 

Derek tore the first man’s throat out. The second came at him with a knife; he bent the gloved hand back, flipped him around to break his neck. 

Three and four pulled out hand guns. He easily dodged both shots aimed his way. He caught one across the stomach; four claw marks blooming like red flowers across his abdomen. 

The fourth he punched in the face, then with his strength separated head from shoulders. 

The fifth and sixth men fell to the ground in two bloody heaps soon after. 

Blood ran down Derek’s face in crimson falls. Stiles could only stare as the canines retracted.  

The human's stomach was a mess of blood. 

Derek fell to his knees, ripping cloth from his own dirtied shirt to press against the wound. 

"Shouldn’t’ve done that…" Stiles’ voice sounded drunk to his own ears. "You know what'll happen-"  

"Shut up," he growled, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood from Stiles’ abdomen. Knife wounds. He wished the hunters were still alive so he could kill them again. 

He slid out his phone, yelling at the operator to _hurry now he's dying the reserve human please_. 

He pulled Stiles half into his lap, held close to his chest. Derek felt the skin of his back where his shirt was riding up. He placed his palm flat against his spine. Black veins snaked up his arms. 

Stiles sagged further in his grip. "Thanks..." 

"We just need to wait. They'll be here. The ambulance will be here." 

Stiles didn't respond. They both knew how far into the Reserve they were and how far the hospital was. Something like fifteen minutes- 

Stiles didn't have fifteen minutes. 

"I'm giving you the Bite." He held up Stiles' pale wrist to his mouth. This was the only way- 

"Derek. No." He was staring at the man with a look of peace. A look of finality. 

He shook his head. "No, this is- this is the only thing that can save you. I have to-" 

Stiles slid his hands onto Derek's scruffy cheeks. He barely had the strength to keep them there. "I won't survive the Bite. And I'm not going to make you go through another failed attempt." 

Derek covered Stiles' hands with his own as they started slipping. 

The sky above them was dark. 

He was trying to memorize Stiles’ face. Like he was seeing him for the first time.  

There was blood on his lips. 

 _Or the last._  

Tears began a silent race down Derek’s cheeks. "I was going to spend the rest of my life with you." 

He was looking up at him. "I guess I'm lucky then." 

Derek stared at the blood. At the dead men surrounding them. "How the _fuck_ are you lucky?" 

Stiles' breathing was slowing. "Because I get to spend the rest of my life with you." 

He was powerless. Stiles was dying in his arms. 

He had failed. 

"I'm supposed to keep you safe," he said, choking back sobs. "I can't fix this. I'm sorry I can't fix this." Derek pulled him closer into his arms. He felt so fragile.  

Breakable. 

Blood seeped into his shirt. 

Stiles was already broken. 

"I don't want to go." His voice was small. An absence of life that Derek had never heard before. And never would again. 

"Just grab my hand." _And don't ever drop it._  

Stiles tried for a smile. "You know for me it was always you, right?" Seeing the tears on Derek's face made his own start overflowing. "Even when we used to ‘hate’ each other, I always knew we’d be together." 

"Stiles, you-" 

"I’m sorry, Derek." _Because I know for you it was always me,_ he wanted to say. 

"I know places. Where they can't find us. So you just have to stay awake and alive, OK? You'll get better and then we can go." 

Stiles could only nod. 

"It'll be better in New York." Derek's voice was breaking. 

 

He feels the exact moment Stiles slips away. Hears the last beat of his heart. 

He holds him tighter. "I know places where we would've been happy." 

He kisses his forehead and cheeks and jaw. Tears spill down his face as he holds onto Stiles. 

 

Sirens wailed in the distance. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Despite Derek's best intentions, Stiles still ended up in a box in the end.  
> ...I'm sorry. That was a really tasteless joke. I'll see myself out.


End file.
